Harvest's Littlest Moon
by The Littlest Artist
Summary: A story based very loosely off Harvest Moon: AWL, but a bit more dramatic . Gwin, a young, artistic girl who moves to live on a farm offends the townspeople with her lack of emotion and spirit. But one young man sees more to her than just an empty shell.


_So here it is! I know I've got a bit of a problem with detial excessiveness...sorry. Hope everyone enjoys, comments are welcomed, criticism is great, telling me what I could do better would be a big help. Note: Obviously I don't own Harvest Moon: Another Wonderful Life (darn), this is just a fanfic based off the people and places in the game._

**Harvest's Littlest Moon**

**Chapter One: Departure for the Valley**

"So…you're really going to the valley?"

The apartment floor squeaked as a young girl scuffled across the wooden planks and shabby rug. She rubbed at her gray, tired eyes and pushed tangled bits of blonde hair behind her ear. Yawning she gazed out the window and collapsed into the old armchair she shared with her room-mate. The seat had seen its fair share of years and was now threadbare in certain places, making its color seem like a sad shade of pink, rather than the vibrant red it had once been.

The sun had finally made its way past the horizon line of the city, just barely sending small streams of light emerging past the rooftops of neighboring apartment buildings, but the city was far from awake. The young girl could only see a few windows with lights turned on, blurred shadows moving across the rooms in their tired daze, reflections of how her own window must appear now.

But only one being was casting a shadow for others to see, the young girl's roommate.

The blonde cringed every time her companion slammed drawers and doors, sounds much too loud for 6:28 in the morning, not even the newly hatched nest of baby birds above them chirped this loud, surely.

Taking no notice to her discomfort though, the other girl continued about her early morning business.

She was only a mere five months younger, but her small frame and short stature made her appear as still a freshman in high school, not the young women she truly was. Her brown hair was a deep chocolate color, cut in a short and messy bob that swished and swayed from side to side along with the simple pale orange sundress she was wearing. She fussed about the diminutive bedroom like a hummingbird caught in a soup can, folding and re-folding the same pair of pants, placing and replacing them in the old fashioned suitcase propped up onto her bed, collecting and distributing her possessions into separate piles, deciding what to take and what to leave behind. The dainty pair of white sandals on her feet was already starting to give her blisters from all her hurrying about, but still she continued to go about her nonsensical packing.

"Would you like some coffee, Gwin? God knows I could use some," the tired roommate asked, after receiving no answer to her first question.

"You know I hate the stuff," the young girl replied in her strong yet quiet voice.

She continued to dart about the room, tossing trinkets and toiletries into the now almost full suitcase.

"Honey, take it easy. You'll end up breaking something."

"The train leaves at 7 o'clock sharp. I'm going to be late as it is," she replied briskly.

"Should I go make breakfast then? It'll be a long trip…"

Gwin flung the suitcase lid down and began to buckle up the leather straps on the side.

"Need some help?"

"I'll be fine, Tabatha."

The young blonde sighed. She stood as Gwin fell down on hands and knees and began rummaging under the bed, then went off into the apartment's kitchen.

She already knew Gwin wouldn't accept the breakfast; much less the coffee, for since she had known her, she had always been so persistently stubborn and proud.

The young Gwin would end up traveling on an empty stomach and a bloated sense of self.

After much digging around, Gwin finally grasped the handle of her knapsack and pulled it out from the clutches of the messy cavern that was under her bed. The pale tone of her skin stood out even more next the dark linen of the bag, even with the shadows her room cast darkening her complexion. Hurriedly she pulled out her train ticket trying to confirm the time, but stuck to it was the bright red envelope she had received only two weeks ago. Sighing, she coaxed the ticket back into her bag and slowly pulled the fine stationary from the envelope.

_Dear Miss Lamont,_

_I hope this letter finds you faring well, considering the circumstances. I'm so sorry to hear about Thomas' death, as you know he was a close friend of mine, practically a brother to me. _

_Thomas had told me how much trouble you were having finding a job. It must be difficult living in the city, with the economy as it is. As he himself believed, I too am a bit surprised someone of your artistic abilities hasn't been able to catch the eye of some business, perhaps you remember the times your father would send some of your work down to me? _

_I know this may not be my place, but if you would care to live in Forget-Me-Not Valley I have a small unrented home you could live in. Can you remember the valley? I know it was so long ago your father took you here. Your father loved the country life, so perhaps his daughter would as well. It's a bit rundown, but it would be a place to call your own. The farm itself has become quite a shamble, as I am growing old, but perhaps with some young arms you could help me bring it to its former glory. Of course the choice is up to you, and if farming isn't quite what you aspire to do in life, a young artist by the name of Cody has recently moved to the valley. He mentioned he was looking to hire some help for his next project and I'm sure he would love to have your talent._

_I know this offer has probably come as a surprise to you, but please consider the proposal…_

Small jobs selling her paintings and portraits on street corners, bringing in only enough for the split rent and grocery shopping had taken its toll on Gwin. Her eyes had become sunken and her wrists tired and sore from spending long nights painting sceneries or creating colored sketches from photographs young couples had given her. She had only grown skinnier and appeared only frailer. She knew she wouldn't be able to keep it up for long, and so the letter had come as a relief for her in such a troubled time; for she missed her father dearly ever since he had left. He was perhaps the only person more stubborn than she, the only person she had ever accepted money from and now he was gone, along with the little help he had given her. She could only recover small memories of the man named Takakura, neither good nor bad, just simple memories of the man who marveled at her doodles and drawings she had made with sticks in the dirt.

"Becoming nostalgic, are we?" she murmured in a cynical tone to herself and she quickly shoved the letter back in the bag with the ticket.

Looking back at the clock she saw she only had mere minutes until the train leaved. Grabbing her simple sun hat she thrust it onto her head, slung the knapsack over her shoulder and grabbed the suitcase off the bed.

Looking into the mirror she sighed. The reflection was just a plain, ill-looking girl in a boring frock and hat, like some sort of actor from an old fashioned movie.

"At least my dress will match the rest of the populace's for once," she murmured again, still in a degrading fashion.

"Gwin!" Tabatha's voice called out from the kitchen, "You better get going or you'll miss the train!"

"I know!" she called back and without another moment rushed from the front door into the apartment lobby.

"Have a good trip! _Let_ it be a good trip!" she could hear her roommate call out again.

Trip.

Gwin never told Tabatha she had been planning to actually live in the valley. She couldn't bring herself to admit she might not be capable of running the farm or at least assisting this Cody with his work, and she could never tell about the realities of her starving artist lifestyle. She couldn't reveal how much of a life raft this letter and opportunity was to her. A space to call her own, her only rent being to help plant vegetables and brush a sheep or two, a true job as an artist, an artist's apprentice at the least, a place to start fresh. She could never come back to the city that had rejected her and her creative spirit. She would never admit defeat. Yes, to Tabatha, her journey would simply an…extended trip to the countryside.

She brushed out the door with purpose, not daring to shiver as the morning air chilled her fair skin, now bursting with goosebumps. Tightening her grip on the suitcase she blazed forward down the sidewalk, flipping her choppy bangs in front of her eyes, a nervous habit she head developed in a city with so many watchful eyes..

In the crumbling city, the only green she ever saw was the bits of moss that oozed out from fissures in the cement she walked on, little blobs of evergreen that dotted her small world like the mark of a disease. She wondered how long it would take her to adjust to being surrounded by nature, freed from the enclosed spaces of crumbling buildings stacked next to each other like food in the grocery store. As she walked she imagined what the valley would look like, if anything had changed since she'd last been there, but mainly she simply tried to recall old memories, faint and fuggy images of the farm, the dirt roads, the ocean.

By the time she had managed to remember the shapes of the hills that enclosed and protected the valley, she found herself thirteen blocks from her apartment, staring at the open pathways leading to the train station, a place even older than the dying city itself, with the wrinkles and age spots to show it.

It was a very squalid place, with only a few weather worn benches surrounding a small, cluttered ticket booth, manned by a sleeping elderly woman. On the ground were mangled and trampled upon newspapers, wads of ancient gum, and many other forms of litter. Left over garbage and food containers were collected in piles where the force of the rushing train had blown them.

Pursing her lips, she flipped her bangs back in front of her eyes and with the world hidden from view she stepped into the shadows.

But what a mistake it was.

Before she even made it past the ticket booth she found herself tripping backwards, having bumped into a young group of boys blocking her path, unseen beneath her veil of hair. Barely catching her fall, she straightened, holding fast to her hat with her free hand. With a quick flick of her head she flung her bangs to catch a glimpse of what she hoped never to see.

It was the young group of boys who hanged around the train station, one of Gwin's favorite places to work; (for there were always many bored travelers with time to waste, and what better a memento of their journey than a picture?) they harassed the waiting passengers and spread ghastly graffiti all over the walls and benches. The security men had had their hands full with this bunch, and were always chasing them off the waiting room lot with cudgels and threats.

It was not her first encounter with the unruly gang, and with no desire to make this meeting a confirmed last, she began to make her way around them, lips pressed together even tighter, the only inconspicuous way to keep herself steady. But the boys had other plans.

"Lookey here boys, it the little pencil pusher."

The boy grabbed at her shoulder and shoved her into the middle of the group before she could throw a punch or make a scream. Another boy quickly wrapped his arms around her chest to hold her still.

"Cozy?" he sneered.

The spiky jewelry he wore around his wrists cut into her dress and began to scratch at her breasts. Her heart was flying now and as her mind tore threw all the self defense she knew. She bit down on his arm and began throwing herself against his constraining arms, wincing as the jewelry was further pushed into her body, on the verge of breaking skin.

"Hmph, that's cute."

"Going somewhere?" the first boy asked and snatched her suitcase from her hands.

The previously silent boys began to chuckle amongst themselves as she started furiously trying to free herself, beating the boy's shins with her ankles, punching him in the thighs with her hands, still trying to bite his arms, all to no avail, he only squeezed harder.

Soon her possessions began flying across the tile floor: clothing, pencils, her toothbrush, everything.

"Nothing but junk," the first boy whined, tossing the last of her paperback books behind him.

A few of the younger boys departed form the group and began kicking some of the heavier objects around, having a jolly time with their new game.

"Looks like the pencil pusher is a mute, no screams yet," said the boy holding her down and the others crowded in closer.

One reached for her dress and pulled her closer, tearing an already frayed hem.

Her cheeks now flushed an enraged shade of red she flung herself forward, giving herself a bit more space between herself and her captor. She reared her leg to kick and struck a quick blow to his crotch.

With a muted gasp of breathe he let her go and doubled over, his friends easily parting as Gwin pushed her way through to escape. She could see in the distance the large clock over the docking station; it read 6:58.

The only possession she could recapture was her now mangled sketchbook which had been kicked into her path by the boys. Still running she bent over to nab it, shoved it under her arm, and ran toward the now steaming train.

"I didn't need to scream," she muttered as she ran her hand over her chest, feeling for injuries, "I took care of you myself."

She could hear the uniformed men scream "All aboard!" and she ran even faster.

"Wait, wait!" she finally called out, only mere feet from the train doors.

The men waved to her to hurry up and with a quick gallop she bounded onto the small ladder and dodged into the passenger section of the train.

Gasping, she took the only available seat left and tossed her bangs back in front of her eyes, trying to ignore the intrigued travelers looks and glares.

"Mommy, that girl's dress is all messed up," she could hear a small child whisper.

Pulling on her hat, she took her seat next to an old, already sleeping man. Now she could see only the floor of the passenger car, which was all she could hope for.

With a last whistle from the front of the train, the wheels began to turn. The passengers bobbed back and forth as the train pulled out of the station and Gwin settled back into her seat, still clutching the sketchbook she had managed to save from the littered ground.


End file.
